


Half-Orc Boyfriend: Kagan

by LadyPendragonStories



Series: Your Fantasy Boyfriends - Orcs [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, F/M, Fantasy, Half-orc, Human/Monster Romance, Interspecies, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Romance, Interspecies Sex, Love, Magic, Monster Boyfriend, Monster Romance, Monsters, NSFW, NSFW for future chapters, Nudity, Oral Sex, Orc, Orc Culture, Orcs, Romance, Sex, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Teratophilia, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Witch!Reader, Witchcraft, Witches, boyfriend - Freeform, fantasy boyfriend, monster love, monster x reader, monster x you, mythical boyfriend, orc boyfriend, orc love, orc romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 11:15:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16491509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyPendragonStories/pseuds/LadyPendragonStories
Summary: Being a witch, you were always considered an outsider, and little did you know, he wasn't too different from you.





	Half-Orc Boyfriend: Kagan

**Author's Note:**

> Didn't I say I absolutely adore Orcs? Well, here's a Half-Orc, and I actually started writing this before Mauhul was even a thought to me. As with his story, though, this first part is SFW, but there will be NSFW content in the future! I hope you all enjoy Kagen as much as you enjoyed Mauhul!
> 
> If you enjoyed this work and would like more like it, please consider checking out my Tumblr (your-fantasy-boyfriends.tumblr.com) or Buying Me a Coffee!

You were just turning to head back inside your home, the smell of the stew simmering over the small fireplace calling to you, when you hesitated a few steps from the open doorway. Your eyes scanned the edge of the forest, the border between your clearing and the wilds around it. The woods were never still, as it was a sanctuary for many, but this sound…this sound was foreign to this place.

With a soft sigh, you hobbled down to the water’s edge, where your makeshift canoe was moored. You placed one bare foot inside it before steadying yourself. It took you a few moments to cross the lake from your little island, and once you reached the mainland, they were nearly upon you.

Four…No. Five. Five horses, all carrying armor-clad men. You could hear the clang of metal, their shouts, and the thunder of the hooves against the Earth.

It was not often that you received visitors, not that you minded. You were a solitary person, and you had accepted your life here, in the wilderness. It was peaceful…most days…and while you never turned away guests, your hospitality and kindness weren’t always appreciated.

Witch. Devil’s mistress. That was what they called you. And while the former was true, you were not at a level that would allow you to converse with the devil…You couldn’t even talk to the dead. Instead, your craft was centered around life, preserving it, nurturing it. Healer. That’s the name you had given yourself, though there were hardly any that had used that word to describe you.

“Old Wench!” Ah. Your other name. You hadn’t heard that one in a while. Sometimes you forgot the guise you typically wore in front of others.

“Hello, my child,” you smiled, greeting the leader of the group as he emerged from the bush, four others behind him. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” Your eyes scanned the horses and men that had joined him, your gaze pausing on the form draped over one of the stallions.

“He’s injured. Gravely.” Your attention went back to the leader, a powerless human as far as magic goes, but judging by his armor, he was well esteemed by his peers. His eyes were dark, beard long and peppered. He had a worn face, one that looked tired from a lifetime of battle, but you could understand why some might think him handsome. “My lordship said you may be able to help.”

“Perhaps…” you stated with a shrug, strolling over to the black and white horse that carried the wounded warrior. He was unconscious, and you were unable to see his face as it hung towards the ground. His hair was long, plastered to his neck with sweat. Three arrows poked out of his back, and you wouldn’t be surprised if they were laced with poison. “For a price.”

You heard a curse from one of the men behind you and smirked to yourself. “Everything has a price. I will name mine when the job is done.” Such words earned another explicative then a short period of silence.

Finally, a heavy sigh found your ears and you turned to look at the captain. “Well? Come to a decision?”

“Whatever you wish, it shall be yours.”

Ah, what a lovely phrase. It brought a wide smile to your chapped lips, ones you wet as you approach the horse. A cautious creature, he took a few steps back, and you hushed the animal, reaching out a hand to gently run over the side of his face. You pet the stallion for a moment, waited until his quick breaths had slowed, and whispered a few soothing words as your fingers curled around the reigns. A gentle tug was all it took to get the horse to follow you back to your tiny boat; luckily, the animal would fit, but his weight plus a witch and a human would be too much for it.

It would tire you some, but magic was required to make the trip back to your little island.

“Is leaving him with her a good idea?” you heard one soldier whisper to another.

“I promise that some time with me would be better than letting him perish,” you practically sang, finding joy in their fear as you led the horse onto the boat. It required a calming touch on your part, but with a small spell, he was free of any anxiety.

A horrified quiet settled over the group as they realized that you had heard their secret conversations, their concerns. But what they didn’t seem to understand is that you did not care. You had discarded your dependence on others long ago; their opinions did not matter.

Not a single utterance was audible after that, and you were far too busy concentrating on keeping the wood beneath your feet afloat. As you neared your home, you began to think about the man you had taken on. It had been a while since you had any visitors and even longer since one had required your hospitality.

You pushed away the sudden overwhelming pressure of your realization. What did it matter? You only promised to save his life, a trivial thing, and you were not some innkeeper wishing to stay in business. You would do the minimum required, nothing more and only less if your patient turned out to be worthy of a fate worse than death.

Now, a worse question to ponder upon. How long would he need? Preserving a life takes time, and you certainly couldn’t send him home just barely awake…You had a reputation to uphold, after all. But the thought of keeping up your guise for so long…even more than one night without a break…felt like something akin to torture. You hated playing the old woman. You were still young, vibrant, beautiful. You missed being in your true form. However, the role of the “old hag” was safer…much safer.

“Witch!”

The shout tore you from your thoughts, and you whipped your head around so fast that you might have blown your cover. But these men were not so observant; instead, they barked orders: “We will return for him in seven moons’ time. You will have your reward if he is physically able to return to battle.”

The captain was demanding more than what was originally agreed upon, but you would comply. Your reward was far too enticing to give up, so you gave him a short nod before docking, tying the boat in place.

The stallion was more than eager to return to solid land, nearly tripping over his four hoofs to get to the wet grass. You led him and his master towards your front door, out of the sight of their companions, and whispered a quick spell. At the completion of It, the body drooped over the horse’s back was lifted, floating behind you as you entered the stone house.

Your home had once been a ruin, a relic from centuries past when the swamp surrounding It was simply a moat, and your island was a larger piece of land, holding a magnificent fortress. According to your teacher, who had inhabited the place before you, the stronghold had been under siege, everyone and everything inside being burnt to nothing. A lookout tower, missing a roof, was all that was left. You rethatched the roof at the start of every spring, as the only barrier between your dwelling and the sky was usually pretty weak after winter, especially a harsh one.

Your home only had one bedroom and one bed, which, you realized, you would have to give to your patient. Rest was an important part of healing, and while your bed was not the most comfortable, it was better than the dirt floor.

Once the man was settled on his side, you took a moment to look him over. He appeared to be quite different than the men who had brought him here. For one, he was a lot younger, probably at least a decade younger. He wasn’t a boy, though. Not a single thing about him was childish. He had a strong jaw, one that was now shadowed with the beginnings of a beard, and sharp cheek bones. His skin was tinted, not quite the flesh color humans had, and you knew he probably had some orc blood in him. If that was apparent to the others in his company, you had no clue, but he had already proven himself, obviously, enough to incur their worry.

With a sigh, you moved to the other end of the bed, sitting on your knees beside him. Your eyes examined his back, noting the three arrows and the blood around each, saturating the shirt beneath his armor. You noted his breathing, finding that his movements were calm and unlabored. He was lucky then. The arrows did not puncture his lungs, and seeing that he was still alive, nothing vital was in their paths.

After saying a small spell, a bottle floated over to you from your work bench, coming to float right beside your head. You reached up, opening the top and placing some of the viscus fluid into your hand. You placed the salve around each wound, giving it a few moments to numb the area before taking each arrow out and tossing it to the floor.

You spent the next hour tending to your patient, stitching him back up and using some of your herb mixtures and incantations to aid in the healing process. When you finished, you took note that you would have to monitor those spots twice a day, and based on their stage of healing, decide where to go from there. You examined a few other minor cuts and a bruise or two before deciding it was safe to leave him to rest.

And rest, he did. If it had not been for the steady, rhythmic movement of his side, telling you that he was indeed alive, you would have thought him dead. He slept through the night and next day, but there were benefits to this; it made it easier to tend to him and did not require you to constantly be in your guise. However, when the second dawn arrived, and he slept on, you wondered if he would ever wake.

That morning, you removed some makeshift bandages you had made from some old cloth. They were sterile; you had made sure of that by both casting a spell and boiling them, and they appeared to have less blood on them today as compared with the day before. His wounds had closed some, and the skin that had been blackened from the poison was back to his tanner hue. You washed his back carefully, taking notice of some other scars—for one so young, he had many. Some even looked like they might have been deadly, when they were not just a mark, but his orcish blood probably made him more resistant to death than the typical human. Hence, his survival thus far.

After putting on some more salve and casting yet another spell, you applied new sterilized cloth, using your magic to levitate him above the bed as well as wrap the fabric about his torso. You then lowered him back to the mattress, getting to your feet and peering over his side to take a look at his face.

“Still out despite all that,” you said, clicking your tongue while also arching a silver brow.

When it came to anything other than his wound, it was troublesome. With him unconscious, you had to feed him broth and force him to drink water. Luckily, he swallowed, something you had tested the night of his arrival as well as the morning after. You would test the reflex again, not wanting to kill the patient that was worth his weight in gold by causing him to aspirate.

But you would care more for him later. It was time you shed your disguise and bathe.

Turning away from the Halfling, you moved over to your wardrobe, your back hunched over and walk slow just in case. Your bony fingers opened the two doors, and your eyes settled on your robe as well as the two towels you kept on the shelf up top. With a pretend groan, you reached for all three items, bringing them into your arms before leaving the room.

Outside, the sun was just barely reaching you between the canopy of trees that draped their branches over your home. The air was crisp, but not at all uncomfortable, and the grass wet your calloused feet with its dew. Inhaling softly, your eyes wandered to the horse that was grazing just a few feet away, and even as you approached him, he did not lift his head. You supposed it was because he no longer held suspicions towards you; you had kept him from starving, after all.

You strolled past him, stopping only a moment to pet the side of his neck.

At the water’s edge, there was a bush, one that had long since died, but you had kept it from deteriorating as it served as a nice towel rack. Its branches were just strong enough to keep the somewhat thick cloth from falling to the ground, and it had no trouble keeping your robe both in reach and dry.

Once you had emptied your hands, you stepped into the water, allowing yourself to experience the sudden drop in the sand and fully surrounding yourself with refreshing water. As you swam beneath the surface, eyes open and resistant to any irritation, you thought your spell. A spell you could never, ever forget, lest you stay trapped in this form.

“Ah!” you exhaled with a smile as you returned to the air, your young digits pushing your locks from your face. Looking down, you were pleased to find your body revitalized. Gone were the wrinkles and warts. Gone were the liver spots. In their place? Smooth, tight skin. Luscious curves. A body that once made men and women fall to your feet. Sometimes you missed the days when you did not hide yourself away. You were much older now, much wiser, but back then, you lived life without a care. You entertained many lovers, even some royalty in exotic lands far from here…

A sudden sting on your back reminded you, and you pushed your memories away—the good, the bad, and the utterly terrifying—and instead, focused on washing yourself.

Now in an area of the lake that allowed the water to just reach your waist, you turned back towards your home, an incantation passing your lips. One you did not finish for the sight awaiting you at the bank.

There he was, your little Halfling—though _little_ did not fit him well at all—staring at you with the smuggest of looks on his face. His olive green eyes trailed your form before settling on your face, a dastardly smirk pulling at his tempting lips. Thick arms, as bare as you, crossed an equally naked chest, and if his appearance wasn’t tantalizing enough, his voice was. Words, slow and smooth like honey but as dangerous as everything else about this situation, passed his lips, “So? This is what you truly look like, _Old Hag_?”


End file.
